


By Blood And By Me, I'll Fall When You Leave

by NuriaSchnee



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale doesn't get discorporated, But no actual suicide happens, Canon Compliant, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cuddling, Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), Don't worry, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Holy Water, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Misunderstandings, Nobody Dies, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Post-Canon, Post-Scene: The Ritz (Good Omens), Romance, Sad Aziraphale (Good Omens), Scene: The Bookshop Fire (Good Omens), Sentient Bentley (Good Omens), They're dumb and forget to try to sense each other in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27024343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuriaSchnee/pseuds/NuriaSchnee
Summary: After discovering Heaven really wants a war, Aziraphale manages to get rid of Shadwell and goes to find Crowley at his flat, hoping to mend things with him and stop the Armaggedon. However, what he finds is a puddle and a tartan thermos, empty of the holy water it contained. He realizes his friend has indeed left, but to a place where he will never come back.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 131





	By Blood And By Me, I'll Fall When You Leave

Aziraphale had heard humans say constantly that you never know when you’re living a last time. You never know when you are seeing something or someone for the last time, or when you are giving a last hug, a last kiss, when you are saying goodbye for good without knowing so.

A few hours before, Aziraphale had said goodbye to Crowley under the bandstand, putting an end to their friendship, or whatever it was they’d had. Nevertheless, a piece of his heart had held onto the hope that, even if he’d been so hard to the demon, they would meet again. Aziraphale could come back to Crowley, if he needed to; he was certain.

And he needed him now. How  _ stupid _ he’d been. Crowley had been right all along about both sides wanting the war. Aziraphale was ashamed and worried that they had lost precious time of reaction due to his blind trust in Heaven. And Crowley had hung up on him and wasn’t answering the phone now,  _ for the love of God. _

Getting rid of Shadwell had been rather easy. He’d been glad to have a moment of clarity before one of them entered the powered circle and created a mess. Snapping his fingers, he erased the memory of the man and gently pushed him out of the bookshop with an envelope full of money. Sighing with relief, he tried to call Crowley again, but he didn’t answer.

He started panicking, thinking that maybe Crowley had been serious about leaving to Alpha Centauri. Driven by his suddenly agitated thoughts, he crossed the bookshop in a rush to get out, ready to run to Crowley’s flat if necessary. Aziraphale left his bookshop, completely unaware that the wind that got inside through the door, when he’d opened it for a second, had knocked down a candle. Once in the street, he took a cab, which, miraculously, stopped in front of Crowley’s building without having traffic problems and in record time. He paid the driver and practically jumped out of the vehicle. Every door opened to him without even touching it, even Crowley’s one, letting him inside the flat. If the circumstances had been different, he’d never have intruded his friend’s home like that, but there was no time for remorse.

Everything was still and had the usual emptiness that never gave a clear hint if somebody really lived there. And Aziraphale never had been there before, not really, so he couldn’t actually discern if it was empty because Crowley had left already or the flat had always been so stark.

Aziraphale panicked even more, walking through the hall, thinking that maybe he’d been late after all.

“Crowley?” He called him, rushing through the flat, not really knowing towards where to direct his steps. “Crowley, are you here?”

He found himself immediately in a huge room with wide windows and just a table with a throne and a few more things. However, he hadn’t much time to investigate since his angelic senses —and his nostrils— caught a faint vile energy fading, and his eyes fixed on an open tartan thermos on the table.

Aziraphale went deaf and motionless for a second. His vision completely focused on the object he reluctantly gave to his beloved friend, because he was horrified that the demon could obtain holy water on his own and not be careful enough. He’d been terribly afraid of the demon using it on himself. He’d been afraid of it since the first time Crowley asked Aziraphale for some. 

He sensed the smell. He could see the thermos unscrewed. And he refused to look at the thing on the floor before him, under the doorstep.  _ He refused _ . 

But he did, eventually, gazing at a puddle of which seemed molten plastic over a layer of water. Aziraphale vaguely heard himself saying the demon’s name, although he wasn’t sure his voice had really come out of his throat. He practically ran towards the table, avoiding the puddle, grabbing the thermos and looking inside. Empty. 

_ It couldn’t be _ .  _ This couldn’t be happening.  _

But he couldn’t deny the vision before him, no matter how hard he tried to refuse to accept it.

_ He did it _ .  _ He finally did it _ .

Aziraphale dropped on his knees, losing all strength in a second. The thermos slid off his grip, rolling through the floor. He heard the sound of it, until it stopped, immersing the flat in a deafening silence again. And following the silence, the explosion of the realization Crowley killed himself sunk deep into his mind, tainting everything.

As if he was being torn apart, Aziraphale sobbed, muffling it with his hands, bending over, his tears falling until colliding against the floor. 

Since the first time Crowley asked him for holy water, he’d been afraid this day might come. With the passing of the decades, he’d started to relax, thinking that maybe Crowley had been honest about just wanting insurance. In the end, Crowley loved the fact of existing. So it seemed. And maybe it had been true all along.

But in the moment the demon had been most desperate and hopeless in his whole existence, Aziraphale had pushed him away. Twice. He’d been stressed for days due to the consequences of his slip, for having lost the Antichrist. He’d been probably afraid of what that meant for him. And Hell had found out. And he had come to him anyway, even after telling Crowley  _ he didn’t like him _ and that  _ it was over _ . Even after neglecting him, Crowley had apologized and asked him again to come with him. He clearly  _ needed _ Aziraphale, and Aziraphale had denied him.

And Crowley probably returned to his flat, realized not even Alpha Centauri was enough for him to hide, opted to end himself before Hell came to him and took vengeance for his acts. He used holy water to cut his suffering short.

_ Crowley had killed himself.  _

Aziraphale kept there, unable to move, feeling undeserving of the relief of crying, mourning the loss of his friend and blaming himself with the blinding clarity of how many times he’d probably failed Crowley. The only thing he could sense was the emptiness the demon had left behind and the pain filling that hole in his chest. Six thousand years of memories were going through his mind, every sweet moment soiled now with sorrow.

When Crowley had left in his Bentley, leaving him standing in the middle of the pavement, he didn’t actually think that was the last time he would see him. He hoped that once he managed to give the information to Heaven, everything would be alright. Everything would be the same and they could meet again.

But that had been the last time. The last time they had seen each other, Aziraphale had rejected Crowley, made him mad and let him drive away to his doom. He’d let him live the last hours of his life in distress and desperation, to the point that he’d felt forced to end himself, utterly forsaken.

Crowley was gone and Aziraphale had never let him know how loved he was. He could have told him a thousand times but fear had kept him from doing so. He could have hugged him, kissed him, told him he was beautiful and that his presence brought Aziraphale so much joy his heart seemed about to burst every single time he was near. 

He missed every chance for six millennia. And, now, there were no more chances. Aziraphale was alone and Crowley just existed as a memory in his mind.

When he stopped crying and emitting muffled sobs into the void of the flat, he wasn’t sure. He just became slightly aware of himself when he found himself walking through the busy streets of London. He wasn’t even noticing the rain falling over him, soaking his clothes and flattening his curls. His mind was completely blank and his body felt so hollow he was barely aware he was still corporeal. All of a sudden, he was standing in front of Crowley’s Bentley. 

The part of him that was still functioning, he realized it was his Principality side. The End of the World was still in motion and Heaven wanted the war. Aziraphale, with the information he had, might have a last chance to stop it, even after all. If he didn’t try, that world would be destroyed and humans would perish with it. He was created to protect and failed to protect his only friend, the only being that had his whole heart. This was the only thing he could do now, the only thing that would give some sense to both their lives and sacrifices for six thousand years.

Aziraphale wasn’t scared of the consequences of Heaven over him now. Being more precise, he didn’t care anymore of what they did to him. He’d been threatened and beaten. They knew the truth, so giving them another reason to finish him wouldn’t make much difference for him. But it could be a big difference for humanity.

The Bentley opened to him, let him settle on Crowley’s seat. Aziraphale had known since the first time he’d been inside the car that the engine was sentient. Through the millennia on Earth, he’d found from time to time objects that were, so it wasn’t strange for him. 

When he closed the door, the fresh scent of Crowley hit his nostrils and he forced his corporation to stop breathing. Immediately, he felt the Bentley wrapping him in welcoming energy, as if screaming loudly in joy. That almost brought Aziraphale to tears again.

“Hello, my dear,” Aziraphale whispered with a rough voice. “I need you to take me to Tadfield. It’s frightfully important. Can you do that?”

The engine turned on the radio and it screeched for a few seconds, interferences echoing until music started to sound clearly. “ _ Love of my life, can't you see? Bring it back, bring it back. Don't take it away from me, because you don't know what it means to me _ ,” the Bentley sang through a Queen’s song.

Aziraphale pressed his lips onto a thin line, repressing the wave of sadness threatening to come out of him.

“ _ Oh, hurry back, hurry back. Don't take it away from me. You don't know what it means to me. Love of my life, love of my life… _ ” The song cut and continued.

“Can you take me there?” Aziraphale breathed out, trying to repress his feelings. Apparently, the Bentley knew Crowley had died too. She was mourning as well. “I really need to go. And there’s nothing for us here anymore, I’m afraid.”

The song cut off again, changing to another. “ _ Save me, save me, save me. I can't face this life alone. Save me, save me, save me. Oh, I'm naked and I'm far from home. _ ”

Aziraphale sobbed, grabbing the wheel and pressing his forehead against it. “I know, sweet girl. I know,” he cried softly, holding onto the car as if he could share his pain with her that way, as if he could hug her. “And I’m sorry. So, so sorry. It was all my fault. We’ve both lost him because I’ve been stupid. But I need you to help me,  _ please _ . It’s all I can do now.”

The Bentley roared intensely, making a sound he’d never heard her doing, and moved out of her parking spot. Aziraphale straightened up, getting his hands off the wheel as it started to swirl.

“Thank you,” the angel whispered, utterly relieved, sniffling.

He put on the seatbelt when he realized the Bentley would make good use of almost a century of her owner’s driving madness. And, for once, he wouldn’t object it.

As the Bentley drove out of London and managed to squirm through the M25, heading towards Tadfield, she continued to sing to him, probably using all Queen’s love songs at her disposition. Eventually, Aziraphale couldn’t handle it. The music revived the sorrow even more and he ended up bursting in tears and sobbing helplessly in his seat.

He couldn’t get out of his head how agonic his death probably had been. He knew what holy water did to a demon; woefully, he’d seen it a few times. And Crowley had died thinking he was alone, forgotten, rejected by everyone. He’d died without knowing that, even if Hell didn’t want him, and Heaven didn’t either, and God had ripped love from him… Aziraphale loved him intensely.

He would tell him, and wrap his arms around him to never let go, fill his face with kisses and caresses, stare into his beautiful eyes and the consequences be damned… If he only could see Crowley once more. Just once.

The Bentley slowed down abruptly and startled him, the bubble of sadness Aziraphale was in exploded. 

“What’s wrong, girl?” He muttered, his voice hoarse, and the Bentley parked on the sideway, moving out of the driveway. “Why are you stopping?”

The music turned off and the motor as well. She went completely still and Aziraphale was worried. He was about to try a miracle over her to make her work when the sound of another car approaching at frightening speed made him turn around to see. 

Effectively, another car was approaching and stopped right in front of the Bentley, its owner pressing the breaks so hard the car drifted until it was facing the Bentley. Aziraphale was breathless, but hadn’t the time to be confused since the driver got out of the car right away.

The first thing Aziraphale saw was a hint of bright red. Immediately, a pair of dark sunglasses fixing on the Bentley, hiding a pair of yellow eyes that probably were full-snake right now.

_ Crowley _ .

Slamming the door shut, Crowley started to shout and approached the Bentley with a few strides. “You, FUCKER! How you dare to steal MY CAR!” He growled, his demonic rage showing up.

Aziraphale felt pinned to the seat by an invisible force, gazing at the demon coming to smite whoever had stolen his beloved Bentley. He was completely quiet in his spot, devoid of any thought or explanation for what he was seeing.

Crowley stopped half way, meeting Aziraphale’s gaze through the glass when he was close enough. The world seemed to actually freeze for a few seconds, neither of them moving, neither of them thinking.

Then, Aziraphale sensed Crowley’s energy, raw and bright and  _ real _ . Crowley was alive. The vision before him wasn’t a mirage. His heart hammered against this chest, urged him to move, to take his seatbelt off and open the door to get out of the Bentley. Aziraphale stood there, under the grey sky, holding onto the edge of the door and looking at Crowley, who was still completely petrified.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley muttered, almost whimpering, his voice softer than he’d ever heard it.

The angel let out a watery sob, his eyes getting misty. “You are alive,” he breathed out, trembling and feeling his knees about to give in. “ _ Crowley _ .”

Aziraphale walked slowly towards him, afraid that if he moved too fast the image before him would vanish. Ignoring how wobbly his legs were, he approached the demon, needing to confirm what he was seeing, not trusting his angelic senses anymore. He needed to touch him, or either he would still think this was a vision created by his sorrow. 

Crowley stiffened when Aziraphale stood before him. The angel sighed, almost sobbed, now feeling the heat of the demon’s body, his spicy scent, his breathing colliding against him. His hands itched to land on him, sense the palpability of his body, take his sunglasses off and look into his eyes without barriers. He was shaken, and he wanted to break down, to hug him, kiss him, tell him everything he regretted not having said before. He did none of those things.

“ _ You are alive _ ,” he tittered, overwhelmed with relief and joy, smiling and making an extreme effort to keep his tears restrained. “Oh,  _ dear _ . I thought I had lost you. How is this possible?” He furrowed deeply, confused. “Where the Hell were you? I… Went to find you to your flat and I found the thermos and that melted thing on the ground  _ and.. _ . I thought…  _ I thought it was you _ .”

Crowley wasn’t moving. He just took a shuddering breath, his pupils expanding behind the sunglasses. His lips trembled a little, as if he wanted to talk, but didn’t.

“Where were you? What happened? If that wasn’t you, who…?” Aziraphale rushed to ask, anxious. “Crowley,  _ please _ , can you say something? Talk to me.”

“ _ I _ thought you were dead,” he whispered.

“Wh-What?” Aziraphale mumbled, staring at his friend, horrified to see Crowley’s broken expression. “Why did you think that?”

Crowley was staring at him wide-eyed now, as if he’d realized of something. “Oh, angel… I’m so sorry,” he mumbled, his tone regretful.

“What is it? What’s going on?” He asked, afraid by the way the demon was looking at him.

“Your bookshop burned down,” he whispered roughly, the words seeming to weigh a ton on his tongue.

Aziraphale’s brain was blank for a moment, his heart clenching painfully at the prospect of his whole bookshop destroyed, gone forever. However, he cleared his mind fast. There were more important things to attend now. There was no time to mourn now and having Crowley there,  _ alive _ , was enough to keep him collected.

“You thought... It was Hellfire?” Aziraphale asked with a thin voice and Crowley gave him a little nod, averting his eyes for a second and getting his hands inside his pockets. “Oh, Crowley… I apologize, dear. I might have left a few candles lighted up, now I think of it. Such a mistake…”

Crowley gulped, tilting his head down and giving him a slight nod. He seemed so tense, so closed. And Aziraphale remembered what he’d said to him a few hours ago, how he had rejected him. The demon always came back to him, but maybe there were more wounds in his heart caused by Aziraphale than he thought. Another thing it’d have to wait, much to his dismay.

“We should talk about this later, but now he must get to Tadfield,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll explain everything to you in our way, I promise.”

His friend gave him a strange look and nodded again, walking towards his Bentley. Aziraphale followed with his eyes for a second, feeling his heart breaking and being remade at the same time, healed because Crowley was alive, shattering due to the demon’s obvious shock.

Aziraphale got into the car and explained everything to Crowley as they approached the spot where the World would end.

  
  
  
  


It was done. They were safe.

As they walked out of the Ritz, Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel as light as if he was incorporeal. There was a new kind of bliss surrounding them as they walked down the street, a pacific breeze caressing them as they smiled at each other. It was happiness. The happiness of freedom.

Aziraphale had been worried that Crowley would not want to be near him after everything he’d said, but that didn’t happen. The demon remained by his side, just as he always had. They joined forces and broke their chains, stepping out of Heaven and Hell and into their freedom.

And, for the first time ever, Crowley seemed truly relaxed, smiling and teasing Aziraphale with openness. Aziraphale couldn’t help observing him attentively, feeling as if falling in love a little bit more, an urgency growing inside of him.

“By the way,” Crowley said as they walked towards the bookshop, “how the Hell did you steal the Bentley? You can’t even drive.”

“Oh,  _ that _ .”

They still hadn’t talked about everything that had happened the day before. Stopping Armageddon and planning their switch in Crowley’s flat had occupied all their thoughts until that very moment. A spark of anxiety ignited inside the angel.

“I needed to get to Tadfield and… I don’t know exactly how but, before I could realize, I was in front of her,” Aziraphale explained, trying to ignore the memories of the previous moments. “I asked her to accompany me and she just did. She’s rather lovely, honestly.”

“A turncoat, that’s what she is,” Crowley growled. “I can’t believe she drove you there  _ without me _ . She never drives by herself when I’m in.”

“Maybe you should stop abusing her brakes, then,” Aziraphale mussed, smirking a little. “Or, maybe, she’s just as disobedient as her owner. Befriending angels and such.”

“Pfff,” Crowley let out, sinking his hands in his pockets. “Will have a talk with her later, anyway.  _ She left me behind _ in that gross pub.”

“I think she tried to warn me you were there,” Aziraphale said after a few seconds, recalling the exact words of the songs she chose at the moment. It wasn’t mourning; it was a warning that the demon was inside the pub. Crowley uttered a growl and Aziraphale smiled. “And why on Earth were you in a pub, a few hours away from the End of the World, by the way?”

The demon shrugged his shoulders. “Getting very smashed,” he answered with a mumble and his expression seemed to fall a little.

“Why?” Aziraphale found himself whispering, almost stopping on his tracks.

He made a pause, averting his eyes. “I’d lost my best friend,” he muttered. “Didn’t want to… I don’t know.”

Aziraphale indeed stopped, freezing in the middle of the pavement. Immediately, Crowley turned around to look at him and he saw a hint of something very fragile in his eyes, covered by the darkness of his glasses. Something very fragile, very hidden, and Aziraphale started to tremble at the sight of it, felt his eyes covering with blurriness.

“A-Angel,” Crowley whispered, wide-eyed.

He couldn’t talk. Instead, he approached Crowley again, looking down and tentatively reaching for his hand, interlacing their fingers, like he did the last night in the bus. Crowley’s hand was warm, slender but firm, and Aziraphale felt his touch grounding him, giving him a sense of security, which made him regret not having grabbed the demon’s hand eons ago and never letting go.

Crowley didn’t say a thing either. Just tightened the grip a little, just for a second, as if he was surprised. After a few seconds of standing there, holding hands and not looking at each other, Aziraphale took a step to keep walking and Crowley followed.

The rest of the way was silent, a bit awkward, both of their palms sweating but neither of them letting go. Aziraphale was trying to breathe slowly, pushing down an urgency growing fast inside him, the same one he’d felt when both of them had found each other in the middle of that road, after thinking the other was dead. He wanted to do this right, to confess properly, even if he was deeply scared that it might not be completely required. However, he was hopeful that maybe Crowley felt the same way; there had been a few signs, in the end. Nevertheless, even if he didn’t feel the same way, Aziraphale knew the demon wouldn’t disappear from his life just because of that. It’d be something they would manage, somehow.

That calmness of thought started to drift to panic when they approached the bookshop. Aziraphale let go of his hand to open the door with his key, needing a little miracle to let it slip into the keyhole at the first attempt, since his hand was trembling too much. He stood aside, holding the door and let the demon in, still not looking at him. Crowley seemed to hesitate for a second, but ended up stepping inside. Immediately, Aziraphale followed him and, when the door closed behind him, it also did the bolt.

Crowley turned around, clearly surprised by the sound, their gazes finally meeting.

Aziraphale knew right away he wasn’t going to do this right. It would be mess, probably the most reckless thing he’d ever done. There was no other way to do it, he felt. In less than twenty-four hours he’d lost his Faith, his most beloved friend, his hope, his bookshop, his lot, Heaven, and he couldn’t lose another minute, even if he had all the time in the World now. This had been pending for six millennia. And he had to reach Crowley, hold onto him as if he truly had no other moment. Because he knew how that was now.

The urgency inside him exploded, the desperation making him cross the distance between them with a couple of strides and grab Crowley’s face with his hands, pushing him down to his lips. It lasted just a second, the panic of overstepping boundaries settling into him again. When he let go, burning with the need to keep kissing him, to go all the way until they were both bare and writhing in each other’s arms, he kept his eyes closed, trying to retain the soft feeling of Crowley’s lips in his memory. When he opened them, he found the sight of Crowley, petrified and wide-eyed, blushing to his chest.

_ Oh _ .

Aziraphale dropped his eyes a little and half-swallowed a whimper, raising his trembling hands towards Crowley, placing them over the chest of his jacket and caressing the fabric of it, slightly grabbing the lapels. He sighed shudderingly, looking at Crowley’s eyes once more, trying to blink away the moisture gathering in his eyes.

He really wanted to talk. He really was trying to tell him that he was sorry, that losing him had been the worst that had happened to him in his whole existence, that he loved him. But he was unable. Instead, frustrated, he closed his eyes and bent his head, pressing his forehead against the demon’s half uncovered chest. The touch of his skin ignited the urgency more and he opted to grip the laps harder, trying not to unleash completely and jump over him like an animal. 

Unexpectedly, Crowley rose his arms, encircling him and holding him closer, until there was no space between them. Aziraphale let go of the lapels, hugging him back, tightly, and hid his face against the demon’s neck. He felt Crowley starting to tremble, his body heating up against Aziraphale’s.

“W-What’s wrong, angel?” Crowley asked with a soft tone.

Aziraphale sensed the vibrations of his voice against his skin and he had to suppress the need to kiss his neck right then, although he couldn't hold back the little whine that escaped between his lips.

“I love you,” he breathed out genuinely. There was nothing else he could have said. That was the only truth that really mattered right then. “And… I thought…” He continued, swallowing down a sob. “I thought you had died without knowing…  _ Believing _ that I didn’t. Oh, dear… Forgive me.”

“Angel…” Crowley sighed, sounding as sad as surprised.

Aziraphale pressed his face harder against Crowley’s neck, cherishing the sensation. The demon, however, grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him back ever so gently. The distance made Aziraphale’s heart protest, every one of his cells needing the contact of him. He kept his eyes fixed on his chest, embarrassed and a little scared of what he could find in the demon’s eyes.

“Angel, look at me,” he demanded with a sweet tone and Aziraphale couldn’t find the will to not comply. 

Crowley was furrowing, concern was written all over his features, but there was still some reminiscence of an ancient hope, a spark Aziraphale had seen many times before. He felt Crowley’s thumbs tracing soft lines on his shoulders, reassuring, keeping his grip gentle. The demon gulped, a faint nervousness making space for itself in his expression.

“I… Aziraphale, I always…” He hesitated, seeming to struggle with what he was trying to say, furrowing more when he started to reach a state of frustration. “I love you too, you idiot.”

Aziraphale was still for a second, the words echoing in his ears. Then, when the demon's declaration sunk in his soul, the flood gate of his eyes seemed to snap open. A sniff, and then a waterfall. 

The angel dropped his eyes again, ashamed, and Crowley - _ bless him- _ seemed to panic even more. 

“H-Hey…” Crowley babbled. “Don't cry… Why are you crying?”

“It's just…” He whimpered and breathed out, desperate. “I don't know.”

Crowley let out a tired sigh, but approached him and took his hand again, gentle as ever. Aziraphale felt about to faint when the demon, reverently, rose it to his mouth, pressing a kiss over his knuckles, palm, and wrist. 

Then, he fixed his eyes on him, completely yellow, barely taking his lips away from his wrist. Aziraphale's sounds of despair drowned with the deep concern in Crowley's gaze.

“Don't cry,” Crowley repeated, more softly, making the angel's heart flutter. Aziraphale sniffled again, trying very hard not to. “Let's sit, c'mon.”

He took him to the sofa, helping him to sit and hurrying to pour a couple of drinks and sit by his side. Aziraphale took the cup, glanced at its content for a second and then drowned it with a single gulp. 

“Hey, hey,  _ hey _ ,” Crowley blurted out as he swallowed the drink, horrified, taking away the glass as soon as he finished. “ _ For fuck's sake _ ,” he sighed, putting both glasses on the floor and turning to him, actually concerned now. 

“I'm sorry,” Aziraphale cried, sniffling and exploding. “For everything I'd said to you. For leaving you alone. For pushing you away. For… Six thousand years I've… I've pushed you away and I… Crowley, if something  _ ever _ happened to you because of me… If you ever disappeared forever I don't know what I would…” 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley almost launched himself over him, placing his hands over his shoulders, stopping his babbling. “I'm here and it's all over now. You don't have to worry anymore.”

“I don't deserve… Anything from you, not really,” Aziraphale muttered, mournful. “I don't deserve that you… Love me.”

Crowley emitted a low growl. “You're six thousand years late to tell me not to love you.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale sighed, eyes blurring again. “Oh,  _ my dear boy _ .”

He writhed, uncomfortable, taking off his glasses and dropping them on the sofa carelessly, which bounced and fell to the floor. “Yeah. What? Don't make that face. As if I was anything but fucking obvious.”

Aziraphale made a little sound, hands clenched on his lap, shoulders fallen. The swirl of feelings of regret and despair was so huge that, for the first time, he couldn't realize the loving gaze of the demon by his side. 

Luckily, if there was anything Crowley had mastered in his six millennia on Earth, was finding Aziraphale. 

It was unsure, the way he crossed the distance, placing a hand over Aziraphale's, touching a shoulder with his own. Aziraphale felt a rush of electricity taking over his body, looking up and fixing his eyes on him with a gasp. There, he found his adversary, his friend, with the openness in his face of wanting to be a lover. 

“You don't need to explain. Or be sorry about anything. I know why you did what you did and it's  _ okay _ . And I know that what you saw… It sucked, but  _ I told you _ . I’d never kill myself. I wouldn’t leave you alone. You’re too likely to get yourself discorporated to have a bite of whatever,” he huffed, playful, and Aziraphale smiled softly. “We're done with our past now. We're free,” he said then, vehemently. “Together. If you want,” Crowley added, in a softer tone. 

“You… Aren't cross with me? Not even a little?” 

“No,” Crowley assured and a smirk appeared on his lips immediately after. “Tho I'll be really mad if you continue saying nonsense like that you don't deserve this or that. I haven't saved your angelic ass a thousand times to hear this now.”

Aziraphale breathed a tiny laugh. “Right, well…” 

“Just…” Crowley's hands tightened over his. “It was very fucked up too, for me, thinking you were… Gone. Hadn't… Felt anything that shitty since the Fall, so… I understand. But I promise I'm not moving from here, if you don't want to.”

“I don't.”

“Then, don't fuss more.”

The angel nodded, looking at him, soul breaking, heart soaring, and body shaking with anticipation. 

“You really love me?” Crowley asked, voice almost a whisper. “Like, not  _ angelicly _ , but… You know…  _ That _ way.”

“I do.”

Crowley’s expression twitched, seemed to crumble for a second with something similar to absolute happiness mixed with relief, just to seem collected again. 

“Can I… Kiss you, then?” He asked, not able to hide the desperation this time. 

“Please,” Aziraphale whined. 

Crowley ate the distance, breath ragged even before their lips touched, and their kiss seemed fire touching gasoline, igniting a restricted want of thousands of years. 

It wasn't hurried, though. There was no hurry. They kissed with a slow rhythm. Not fighting. Never fighting. Just meeting the other, finding the other. Discovering how to sway in this new dance. 

Crowley pulled Aziraphale to him, to lay with him on the sofa, hugging him and covering him with safety. They spent the night like this, between kisses and warmth and love, and Aziraphale couldn't help a few more tears, thanking  _ Someone _ Crowley was there with him, that he'd survived, had stayed. 

There would be time for hard conversations, for talking about what this all meant for them. But Aziraphale, right then, couldn't find a reason to be unsure. There was love between them. It would be enough for them to find the strength to figure everything out. 

In the end, it had been the reason that had kept them alive, hadn't it?

**Author's Note:**

> *wakes from writer block* *writes some angst* *laughs maniacally* 
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://nuria-schnee.tumblr.com/)!


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